


"What's Gonna 'Appen?"

by constructivecritic71



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Silly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-11-02
Packaged: 2019-08-11 12:47:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16475849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/constructivecritic71/pseuds/constructivecritic71
Summary: The characters discuss what might be planned...





	1. Chapter 1

“What d’ya think’s gonna ‘appen?” Daisy asks quietly.

“Whaddya mean? The same that’s been ‘appening since it started!” Mrs. Patmore proclaims with surety. “There’ll be worry ‘bout the estate, bullying or blackmail of some sort, someone’s gonna fret over havin’ ‘purpose’, and there’ll be a good bit o’ hanky panky goin’ on.”

“Daisy and I’ll help with that last bit,” Andy says, looking suggestively at Daisy. “Won’t we?”

Daisy blushes.

“Daisy’ll be in the middle of more than that,” Mrs. Hughes states with a chuckle. “She always manages to be wherever an observer is needed…”

“Maybe I’ll get my own story again,” Daisy muses wistfully.

“Careful what you wish for,” Anna says. “‘Might not be as harmless as fretting over a beaux.”

“She doesn’t need to fret over me,” Andy states. “But if we marry, there’s my family …”

“Don’t be silly, Andy,” Barrow says with a snarky voice. “The only family that is supposed to matter to downstairs people is the one upstairs.”

“Unless you have former spouses or loves that can cause havoc,” Bates says.

“Or a destitute friend or relation,” Carson observes. Then he heaves a large sigh, “I expect it to be me wondering how to fill my days…”

Mrs. Hughes pats her husband’s arm gently, “Try not to worry, Charles, there’s bound to be something … who could imagine the Abbey without Carson?”

“Don’t answer that, Mr. Barrow,” Carson warns his successor.

Barrow smirks in response, then says ominously, “Someun’s gonna die, too.”

“Now why do you have to remind everyone o’ that?” Mr. Molesley scolds.

“‘Cause it’s true,” the now-butler scoffs. “Someun’s always givin’ up the ghost.”

Everyone around the table scans the others, as if trying to single out the probable victim.

Barrow adds, “Why are you even ‘ere? You don’t work ‘ere anymore.”

“Thom--, er, Mr. Barrow, I thought you were going to try to be nice? He’s here because he’s my love interest,” Baxter says, batting her eyes at Molesley.

Molesley blushes.

“Ye see?” Mrs. Patmore says with a mischievous grin, “‘Lotta hanky panky gonna happen. ‘S a moving picture, so they might e’en show more o’ the steamy parts.”

Carson’s eyebrows raise, “Good Lord! Elsie, we must lock the door at night.”

“And not during the day?” Elsie asks with a smile and twinkle in her eyes.

Carson blushes.

“I’m lookin’ forward to it!” Mr. Mason says with his own grin, moving closer to Mrs. Patmore and reaching a hand to her backside.

The head cook lets out a squeal, “Albert!”

Mr. Mason winks. Mrs. Patmore blushes.

“Pity, ... none o’ that for me…,” Barrow complains.

“You’ll try something, though,” Bates teases, “You always do. You can’t help yourself.”

Barrow blushes.

“That reminds me … there’ll be quack medicine of some sort,” Mrs. Hughes says. “I’ve counseled many of you out of one such nonsense or another…who’ll be next?”

“Perhaps they are done with such repetitious drivel,” Carson says. He sees the dubious look on everyone’s face, then reconsiders, “or perhaps not…”

Anna bounces a baby gently in her arms and says, “I hope ‘tis not one o’ the children who gets sick or dies.”

A new voice enters the room, ‘’Could be, Mrs. Bates. ‘Twouldn’t be the same if the Bateses don’t have to face some trial. Or ‘could be George at risk … the uncertain future of the estate’s always been part of it.”

“Heaven help us, are you back?” Mrs. Hughes asks, hand to her chest and a worried look on her face.

* * *

 

“Golly, and I thought waiting the past three years was difficult,” Lady Mary says with exasperation. “I’d forgotten how tedious these dinner scenes are.”

“How else to have everyone in the same room together?” Cora reminds her eldest daughter.

“They usually only focus on two or three of us at a time,” Tom says. “Unless there’ll be another fight or bloody scene…”

“Your language, please, Tom,” Cora chides.

“I meant Robert’s--,” Tom starts to explain.

“We don’t need to be reminded of that dreadful night,” Violet says with a shudder.

“Mama, I did not realise you were so affected,” Robert says as if touched.

“You spewed an emotional outburst at Cora in front of everyone! Of course I was affected!” Violet fumes, then adds disapprovingly, “So un-British.”

“That was a fun scene to do, though,” Robert says with a glimmer in his eye. “Nearly as much as the cricket match.”

“I prefer the cocktail hour, or going-through gatherings,” Mary says. “Or better yet, any of the outdoor scenes. Riding is always fun.”

“I don’t ride, and neither does your grandmother or Edith,” Cora says, then concedes, “But a garden party, perhaps, or bazaar.”

“A cricket match would do it,” Robert says with hopeful gusto.

“Tea scenes are more to my liking,” Edith says with a smile.

“That is because you are allowed to play with your daughter then,” Mary says with an eye roll.

“There is nothing wrong with that,” Edith says. “Is there, Tom? … Tom?”

“Huh? Oh, sorry, what was that?” Tom says.

“Oh, no, not that again,” Mary says.

“You mean how Tom seems distracted and lost?” Robert asks. “I agree, Mary, I’d hate to see that come back.”

“Someone has to do it,” Henry says. “I did my part … actually, nearly everyone has to at some point, now that I think on it. But I would rather it not be my business partner.”

“I am not lost and distracted,” Tom says defensively, “Just…”

“Only trying to figure out how you’ll get some of the hanky panky?” Rosamund asks. “I’ve been wondering the same for myself.”

Tom blushes.

“It seems you are on point, Rosamund,” Bertie says, grinning toward Tom. 

Rosamund adds, “Sorry, Tom, but even though you dress much more properly now, it would be too much of a stretch for you and I to have a fling. Even here.”

Bertie adds, “Don’t worry, Tom, Edith is having Miss Edmunds visit. She’s very attractive, and a modern woman…”

Tom blushes again.

“Enough teasing of poor Tom,” Violet states, then asks, “On to more important matters: How will we face whatever crisis is thrown our way?”

“Why a miraculous letter or telegram, of course,” Mary states, looking as if it is a silly question. Robert looks to his mother, and says, as if explaining to an errant child, “That is how conflict always is presented and resolved.”

Nearly everyone around the table nods in agreement, all murmuring something about there needing to be something in writing.

Violet cocks her head, amused, “You all know that there are times when rules are ignored and traditions broken.”

“Did you really just say that?” Isobel asks, incredulously. She turns to Cora, “Is there something in the sauce? Or is Violet ill again?”

“If she is ill...,” Dr. Clarkson says, “There is bound to be a misdiagnosis, and either a miraculous recovery, or … tragedy.”

Everyone around the table nods in silent agreement.

“You’re right about that,” Edith says, a worried expression causing creases in her brow. “But it may not be Granny … who will it be?”

Everyone around the table scans the others, as if trying to single out the probable victim.

“Henry and I are the newest, so we’re the likely candidates,” Bertie says. “And that would fit with the recurrent tragic love storyline, especially for Edith.”

Rosamund observes, looking between Mary and Edith, “I am jealous. One of you would get to do something, like cry or scream in agonized torment. I wonder who?”

Mary and Edith eye each other competitively. Everyone else around the room looks jealous, too.

“As long as I am not asked to cry over Edith,” Mary says. “I am not sure I could do it.”

“Likewise,” Edith sneers back, throwing daggers with her eyes toward her sister.

“Ladies! Behave!” Cora says. “Haven’t we had enough of that over the years?”

“Not nearly with how much fun it is,” Edith says.

“Mama, you rarely do anything to discourage our animosity,” Mary says, surprised at her mother’s reaction. “Why start now?”

“That reminds me … someone will get into a tussle about something, and I’ll be indignant,” Robert says, watching his two daughters. “Those times are always fun, too. Almost as much as a cricket match.”

“I wonder who will come to visit,” Bertie says. He turns toward his wife, “A relation of some sort, I would imagine. If it is your family, you may need to draw me a diagram.”

“Cousin …niece or nephew … which it is matters not if there is a blood tie,” Rosamund says. “It is a shame Rose will not be visiting again. Mary could have asked her to be godmother.”

“At least I didn’t have to suffer through the pregnancy,” Mary says with a smile.

“Nobody ever had to,” Edith says. “I only had dizzy spells.”

“Thank goodness we have a male writer,” Mary says. “Those belly prosthetics are uncomfortable enough to make me never want to procreate again.”

“Darling!” Henry exclaims.

“Not give up hanky panky, darling,” Mary says with a lusty smile just for her husband. 

Henry doesn’t blush; he looks relieved.

“Details of pregnancy itself were never part of the story,” Isobel says. “Illegitimacy, miscarriages, or complications, now those are always fair game.”   
Edith pats her stomach and says with glee, “No worries here. I get pregnant in a trice, as we all know. My husband and I are quite adept at hanky panky.”

Bertie blushes.

“Oh, Edith, must you always be so demonstrative?” Mary says with an eye roll. “Next you’ll want to show off your stretch marks.”

“Heavens, you are making me ill just speaking about such topics,” Violet says.  “Those details are avoided for good reason.”

“I have to agree, Mama,” Robert states.

“Mark the calendar,” Rosamund says. “That is his quota.”

“Speaking of dates,” Henry begins, “What is happening in the world that will impact us?”

“That will depend upon how far ahead they go,” Isobel says.

Tom shrugs and says, “There are still a couple of years until the Slump starts, so it will have to be some other financial disaster for the Crawleys.”

“What is a Slump?” Violet asks.

“Never mind, Mama,” Rosamund says. “It shan’t be part of the story anyway.”

“Perhaps another fire … I mean, they used to happen all the time. The last one here was pitiful … what about one that destroys the entire Abbey?” Dickie interjects.

“Impossible,” Cora says. “That would be the end, and they want to milk this as long as possible.”

“I believe blackmail has always provided a reliable tension,” says a voice near the door.

Everyone turns to look at whoever is so rudely tardy for dinner. When they see who it is, everyone’ face shows shocked surprise.

“Heavens, are you back?” Violet asks.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The first chapter was written before we knew about Allen Leech’s recent interview. This chapter was inspired after reading about that interview.

Curling a paper in her hands, Daisy knocks on Mr. Barrow’s door. 

“Pardon me, Mr. Barrow. Er, I seen ya workin’ on sums fer the house … can ye ‘elp me on somethin’?” the assistant cook says cautiously, “I can’t get the maths to work out.”

“I can try, Daisy,” Barrow says, kindly. “‘Tho’ Mrs. Patmore might be better for helpin’ plan ‘ow big of a roast--”

“‘S not a roast,” Daisy shakes her head, then places the paper on Barrow’s desk. Barrow picks up the page and scans it.

“Are you planning a party, Daisy?” Barrow asks. “Her Ladyship didn’t--”

“‘S not a party, neither,” Daisy says. ‘’S about what’s gonna ‘appen. Or what’s not…”

Barrow looks at the younger woman curiously, “I don’t understand, Daisy.”

“Mr. Branson said there were 22 of us,” Daisy says. “I can’t figure ‘ow he gets that.”

Scrunching his eyebrows together, Barrow looks at the paper again. Daisy has several sets of names on the page.  _ Upstairs  _ is one, and she has listed: The Earl and Countess. The Dowager. Lady Mary and Mr. Talbot. The Marquess and Marchioness of Hexham. Lady Rosamund. Mr. Branson. Sybbie. George. Marigold. Lord and Lady Merton.

Barrow is not sure he would have put Mr. Branson with the  _ Upstairs  _ list, but … 

Daisy has written a ‘14’ after these names, which Barrow counts to be correct.

On the  _ Downstairs  _ list, she has: Mr. Barrow. The Carsons. The Bateses. Baxter. Mrs. Patmore. Herself. Andy. Spratt. Denker. An ‘11’ is near these names.

“Spratt’s gone, Daisy,” Barrow reminds the assistant cook. He pencils a line through that name, then changes the number to ‘10’.

In a  _ Downton  _ set, she has:  Mr. Mason. Mr. Molesley. Dr. Clarkson. ‘3’

Then Daisy has ‘28’ at the bottom of the page. Barrow puts a line through that and writes ‘27’.

“Ye see, Mr. Barrow,” Daisy says, “E’en without Mr. Spratt, there’s too many. I didn’t e’en add Lord Merton’s family … D’ya think more’re gonna leave? … Or die?”

Barrow rolls his eyes at the young woman, “Daisy, now don’t go worryin’ or spreadin’ rumours like that…”

“But ‘tis 27 now!” Daisy exclaims. “Not 22!”

Barrow sighs and says, “He’s probably not countin’ the children… they never get a story o’ their own … they can’t just ignore the children, but their stories are only there to involve the adults.”

“I thought o’ that… there was the time with Nanny West and Miss Sybbie, tho’ ...” Daisy says, defiantly, “But e’en if we take them out … that still leaves 24.” She crosses her arms in front of herself, and says with a still-worried tone, “Who doesn’t matter ‘nough to ‘ave a story?”

Barrow looks up at Daisy with dawning understanding, and begins to chuckle.

“Daisy, I am sure you’ll be important,” the butler says consolingly. “‘S like Mrs. Hughes said, you’re always in the middle of things…”

“How ‘bout Andy?” Daisy asks nervously. “‘E’s not been ‘ere long…”

Barrow cocks his head to the side, smiling and says, “There’s gotta be romance, Daisy. You’re one o’ the few singletons remaining. There’s usually a parallel with them … so I’m guessing ‘tis you and Andy, and … maybe Mrs. Patmore and Mr. Mason … or, Mr. Branson and … someone. Or even Lady Rosamund.” Barrow sighs heavily, “‘Twould be too dangerous for me…”

Daisy looks only slightly mollified. “‘At’s too bad fer ye, Mr. Barrow. But  … ‘still doesn’t answer my question….”

Barrow considers the list again, and sighs. “Alright then … Denker ... and the Doctor … they’re not always around …”

Daisy looks at the butler dubiously, “Denker wouldn’t be missed… but if someun’s gonna get sick or is dyin’, the doctor’s gotta come… ‘e’s been around since near the beginning ...”

Barrow rolls his eyes, then reconsiders the list. “What about Lord Hexham and Mr. Talbot, then? They were rushed in at the end … with the Marquess all the way in Northumberland, and Mr. Talbot in York all the time … maybe they’ll be too busy to have big parts…”

Daisy does not look satisfied with that explanation, either.

“I don’t like it,” Daisy says, clearly still frustrated. “Somethin's' not right …”

“I hate to remind you of another wrinkle,” Barrow says, then gestures to the list again, “This doesn’t e’en count the new ones or those who come back…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: We have our own thoughts on ‘who is in the 22’, but again, this is just silly fun with the characters.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This was simply fun having the characters discuss silly conjecture for the movie. This may be the whole of it … unless further inspiration strikes. Who comes back?


End file.
